


Caged Up

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cock Cages, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Relationship, Jealous Mycroft, M/M, Mycroft has a big dick, No Eurus Holmes, Possessive Mycroft, Post-Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Public Humiliation, Sexual Assault, Sherlock is a Mess, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25506538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: When John Watson appears in Sherlock's life, Mycroft takes drastic measures to ensure his fidelity. Sherlock is not amused and it just gets worse.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 57
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts), [Snoozydog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoozydog/gifts).



> Just a little angsty crack for you to enjoy (hopefully).

#### Baker Street

Sherlock stretched out on his bed with closed eyes, a happy grin on his face, yawning loudly. What an exciting day yesterday had been! A fantastic case! A new friend who had shot the bad guy to save him! Running through his beloved London. Toying with his life. A brand new enemy named Moriarty. Shock blankets and innocent looking crack shots. A new life in a new flat. He felt like a new man! A half-awake new man though. It was still early. He cuddled back into the pillows to get some more well-deserved sleep.

And then the door opened up after a sharp knock. “Good morning! How do you want your tea… Don’t worry – I’m a doctor, I’ve seen naked men be-… Oh…” he croaked when he spotted something that was not alabaster skin but metal.

Sherlock hastily grabbed for the blanket to cover his nudity and said metal item which he had temporarily forgotten about but of course it was too late. His cheeks flushed as red as John’s.

His brand new flatmate didn’t make any attempt at leaving his bedroom though. “Your pe-… Is that an experiment?”

Sherlock should have said ‘yes’ and laughed. But to his horror, he caught himself shaking his head, as if his new friend and flatmate had some evil spell over him to not lie to him. Perhaps because John had saved his life last night? Or perhaps his brain was just not working well yet…

“So someone’s got the key to this… thing…” John concluded. He didn’t look disgusted. Rather amazed and confused.

Sherlock nodded. It was a bit late to deny that.

“You said you don’t have a boyfriend and were married to your work!” John suddenly seemed to be seriously offended about having been lied to when Sherlock had still been able to do it...

It had not been a complete lie though… Because _boyfriend_...? Sherlock searched for words for a moment while being glowered at. “It’s… complicated…” In quite a few ways, actually… Understatement of the century, actually...

“But it can’t be just a… friends-with-benefits-relationship or something,” mused John, who had apparently overcome his embarrassment and anger and was simply curious now. This man surely adapted himself to new and challenging situations very quickly. That had to be his soldier side. “That would hardly make someone force you to wear something that… possessive. Oh. It’s because of me?”

Sherlock nodded after a moment of hesitation. “Yes, but don’t ask any further. Believe me when I say you don’t want to know.” He didn't add, _‘And it’s better for your health’_ , even though that it would have been the truth.

“Oh! It’s Lestrade, right?”

Sherlock grimaced. “Of course not. He’s an idiot. You really think I would let this old copper cage up my cock?”

“He seemed quite smart to me… I bet he figured out that I shot the cabbie.”

“Hardly a difficult deduction… I blabbed on and on about the shooter and then suddenly took it back when I saw you…” His brain had not worked that fast during that case, either. He should have gotten it was the cabbie, not the passenger, long before. And who else but John should have shot the man through the window? Really not his proudest hour...

John swallowed. “He won’t press charges against me, will he?” He seemed to consider this possibility only now.

“Of course not. There’s no evidence. You did let the gun disappear, didn’t you?”

“Sure I did.”

“See. If _I_ don’t solve the case, they’ll never be able to prove it. And who cares? You shot a killer.”

“True.” John walked into the room, looking relieved. “So who?” Sherlock sighed but John didn’t give up so quickly. “Have I met him? It _is_ a ‘he’, isn’t it?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I told you that girlfriends are not my area. And do you seriously think a woman would lock her man’s cock up?” Perhaps they did though. He had no idea – probably straight couples did many things he wouldn’t have expected them to do. In any way he wouldn’t let any woman near his precious penis. Or anyone else besides the man who had grimly stored the key to this little instrument of torture in his jacket pocket. Not just because said man would completely freak out if he did.

“I have no idea who does such things,” retorted John. “Not into bondage and stuff. But _you_ are as it seems…”

Sherlock plucked at his blanket. “Maybe. A bit.”

“So… Have I met him?” insisted John.

Damn. He was like a terrier. And Sherlock felt his cheeks flush again, and John didn’t miss it.

“So I have!” he said triumphantly. “Hm… Not this Anderson type, is it?”

Sherlock snorted, shuddering at the thought. “Even if I had such bad taste and was mad or stupid enough to let him, he would never be able to use this thing. Besides, he is a slave to Sally Donovan even though he’s married to someone else.” Probably Sally loved to whip his skinny arse. Sherlock got sick at the image.

“True, you’d deduced as much. Angelo? Oh, no, wait – it’s not Mike Stamford, is it?!” John seemed to have way too much fun with guessing. And he was rapidly running out of candidates.

“No… Just let it rest, will you?” Sherlock was begging now, but the ex-captain didn't seem to notice.

John scratched his head. “Well, then I have no idea.” Then he laughed. “Of course – I also met your weird brother.” His eyes widened comically when Sherlock, to his endless chagrin, blushed even harder than before. “No!”

“Problem?” mumbled Sherlock, trying to hide in his blanket.

“Ahem. Well…” John let himself drop onto the chair next to Sherlock’s bed, ignoring the clothes that were piling up on it. “Incest…”

“Well, we are both male so we will hardly produce any sick children. And it only started when I was twenty, so no taking advantage of minors either. And we both wanted it! In fact I had to persuade him into doing it.” Sherlock felt close to panicking now. What had he been thinking? He should have lied! He shouldn’t have slept in the buff! He should have locked his bloody door! Finally he was feeling completely awake, but now it was too late...

John was staring at him inquiringly. “I should have known it. He was jealous! It’s the only explanation for this stunt in the warehouse.”

“Yes, well, he is the possessive type.”

“Do tell.” John shot a pointed glance at Sherlock's now covered caged cock. “Archenemies, huh?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Couldn’t really tell you, could I?” Mycroft would have his guts for garters… And he would know it already – surely this flat was covered in bugs…

John suddenly giggled. “ _An interested party_ …”

“Sorry?”

“That’s what he called himself.”

“Oh. Well. Kind of.”

“ _Very_ interested, I’d say.” John shook his head. “He’s the master of the CCTV cameras as it seems. Reckon he has some in here, too?”

Oh… Sure… Not just bugs… “Could be.”

“Oh dear.” John turned around, raising his arms. “Listen, if you’re there, Mr Holmes – I’m not interested in Sherlock. Not like that. I’m straight. So you can free his poor cock of this awful thing.” He turned to look at Sherlock again, realisation dawning on him. “But you don’t exactly loathe wearing it, do you? It’s hardly the first time if you could sleep with it.”

“Well…” Sherlock blushed for a change.

John grinned. “Oh God… And here I was, thinking you couldn’t surprise me any more… You’re not gonna wear this forever now, are you?”

“No. Only until Mycroft decides he can trust us not to fuck.”

John laughed out loud. “Oh well. I wish I had been there to hear that conversation…”

Sherlock couldn’t suppress a grin when he thought about it.

#### Throwback: The Diogenes Club

Sherlock had only left St. Bart’s Hospital after meeting John for the first time. He had stepped out and his phone had beeped with a text, simply saying,

_Get in the car. M_

He had sighed deeply but had made his way to the black limousine that was just stopping at the pavement. There had been nobody in the car but the driver, hidden behind a privacy screen.

Unsurprisingly, they had stopped at the Diogenes Club. Could have been either that or Whitehall. Sherlock had been there countless times so he stalked through the silent halls after nodding at the concierge, paying no heed to the old men in their chairs. When he had reached Mycroft's assistant’s office, he had greeted the attractive brunette before walking through the room to the closed door. The woman had given him a knowing smile and an ironic little wave, and Sherlock had known that nobody would disturb them.

He hadn’t bothered to knock but had just entered Mycroft's office.

A second later he had found himself being glowered at by some very beautiful blue eyes and had sighed once more. _“You said I should find myself a flatmate.”_

“ _I did most certainly not,”_ had flared Mycroft, sitting straight in his black chair, looking both upset and painfully handsome. _“I said that you couldn’t afford a flat in Central London with what you call work.”_

Sherlock had felt a bit hurt. _“It is my job. I’m helping the police. And now I can afford living where I want to live because I have someone who shares the rent with me.”_

“ _And what else?!”_ Mycroft had thundered, suddenly standing behind his desk, his hands resting on it, looking like a predator ready to attack.

Sherlock had rolled his eyes. _“Nothing else, Mycroft. He is totally straight. You really think I would have moved in with a gay or bisexual man, knowing what a jealous control freak you can be?”_ He had regretted this rather hurtful sentence at once but really – it was not exactly untrue.

Mycroft had gasped in outrage. _“Come here this instant!”_

Funnily enough, Sherlock's trousers had gotten a bit tighter at this command, which he had obeyed to at once. This damn _[awesome]_ submissive streak…

He had shrugged off his coat and dropped it onto the visitor’s chair before joining his brother behind the desk. Mycroft had grabbed him at once, pushing him against the mahogany wood not-too-gently. Sherlock had gasped and produced a little whine deep in his throat, which had embarrassed him even though he should have been used to it by now. He had always shown strong reactions to Mycroft being like this – jealous for no reason whatsoever, possessive and controlling, no matter how unreasonable and unjustified and sometimes right-out annoying it had been.

He had gotten all weak in the knees when Mycroft had kissed him fiercely, chewing on his lips, and then his brother’s mouth had moved to his neck to bite Sherlock – not hard enough to leave a bruise though even though he had been certainly dying to do it. Sherlock wouldn’t have minded but Mycroft, even in this state of arousal and exasperation, had thought about the consequences of leaving visible traces on him – traces his PA would notice when Sherlock left the office again as the scarf might not cover it completely. Whether or not Anthea (as she called herself in her line of work; her real name had never been revealed to Sherlock) was really so oblivious towards the true nature of the Holmes-men’s relationship was another question, but in case she didn’t know what was really going on between them it would hardly be a good idea if Sherlock came out of this room with a hickey he had not had when he had entered it…

Knowing that ‘Anthea’ would be guarding the gate, Mycroft had not dawdled at undressing him without bothering to lock the door. As usual when they met in any of his offices, Mycroft had not divested himself of his clothing – opening his flies and pulling out his giant cock and massive balls was enough. So very soon a completely naked Sherlock had been pressed against fine clothing and a hot, leaking cock while two large hands had cupped his arse cheeks and a finger had searched and found his twitching hole.

The bottle of lubricant had obviously materialised itself on the desk, and Mycroft had worked two fingers into Sherlock's canal just to push his fully hard cock him as soon as the strong muscles had started to give way. It had burnt and stung most pleasantly and Sherlock had, sitting on the edge of his brother's desk, slung his arms around the other man’s neck and his legs around his waist and held onto him for dear life when he had been thoroughly fucked. Knowing he wasn’t allowed to scream the otherwise silent house down, he had buried his face in the crook of his brother's neck to stifle his utterances of pleasure, and Mycroft had done his best to hammer home that Sherlock was his and his alone – as if Sherlock would ever forget that.

Mycroft had chased his orgasm vehemently and caught it way too soon for Sherlock's taste. He had spilled deep inside him – and then produced a plug to keep his seed where he had placed it as another (unnecessary but hot) reminder of his claim on Sherlock.

He had sat down in his chair again and rearranged them so Sherlock’s seriously throbbing cock had been in line with his brother’s mouth. Mycroft was a born cocksucker and Sherlock had been far gone already so he had shot his load into his brother’s mouth within mere seconds, slumping on the rather uncomfortable desk with blissfully closed eyes. He had felt Mycroft licking him clean – and then he had opened his eyes wide when he had felt cold metal on his spent cock and still swollen balls.

“ _No! Not the cage!”_ he had protested.

“ _Be quiet. Wanton little tarts who are about to move in with randy little doctors need to be caged up.”_

Sherlock had no problem wearing a cock cage while playing with his brother. But this had felt like a means of mistrust. _“That's ridiculous! I won't do anything with him!”_

“ _No, you won’t,”_ Mycroft had said smugly, smacking Sherlock's bare arse. _“Because I’ve got the key and you will hardly let him fuck you when getting hard causes you pain.”_

“ _For the last time – I have no interest in this man other than to share the flat and the rent with him, and perhaps he will come handy at crime scenes. But he can and will keep his little dick to himself.”_

“ _Ha, so you've looked!”_ had accused Mycroft, and Sherlock had rolled his eyes once more.

“ _Hard to miss, brother. He is short and has small hands and feet and there hardly was a bulge in his jeans. You know I scan everybody by instinct! Doesn’t mean I want to fuck with them!”_

Almost ten years in a committed, exclusive relationship in which Sherlock had always been completely faithful – it was just insane to believe that he would suddenly cheat on Mycroft, with a short-dicked, straight man above all!

“ _Well, we will see. I will take this off when I’m sure you won’t offer yourself to him.”_

“ _Stubborn brother!”_

Mycroft had shrugged, looking strangely vulnerable. _“You've never shown any interest in mediocre-looking men before. And now you’re going to live with one. What do you expect me to think?”_

Sherlock had sighed and put a hand on Mycroft's cheek. _“That you’d know by now that I love you and only you and will never want anything else but your big cock up my arse?”_

Mycroft had finally smiled and kissed him. _“I love you, too, little brother.”_

And that was the crucial point, wasn't it, Sherlock had thought. They loved each other dearly but they were indeed brothers and had been deceiving the world about their relationship for a bloody decade. If he had been with someone like John instead, Sherlock wouldn’t have to be so careful and discreet so Mycroft seemed to think he might crave that. Stupid! Where would have been the fun in that?!

“ _Please… Free my cock. Trust me!”_ Sherlock had known he had to try.

Mycroft had shot him a glare. _“No.”_ He stored the key in his jacket pocket. _“Only when I can be sure.”_

“ _Fine. Have it your way. And for how long are you expecting me to wear the plug? I mean I can pee through the cage but even for me it will be hard to shit with a plug up my arse.”_

“ _Sherlock!”_ Mycroft had looked seriously offended. _“Language! And you're going to wear it until you need to… do that.”_

“ _Prude.”_ Sherlock had grabbed Mycroft's neck and squeezed it gently. _“You're a hopeless case, Mycroft. Jealous without any reason, I ask you! But if you insist…”_

“ _I do.”_ But Mycroft had smiled again. _“Go now and take care of your flat.”_

Sherlock had known that this was not over. Mycroft would certainly have a talk with John. Without giving them away, he had hoped. Well… in the end he had done that but only thanks to Mycroft's darn jealousy...

On his way out, he had stopped next to Mycroft's PA’s desk. _“Clarissa?”_

“ _Nice try, Mr Holmes.”_

“ _One day I’ll pick the right one.”_

“ _Won’t tell you if you do,”_ she had retorted, unimpressed.

“ _Spoilsport.”_

She had winked at him, and Sherlock had grinned, and then he had left the Diogenes Club with a cage around his cock (which was thankfully not visible under his trousers) and a plug in his arse that kept his brother's rich seed from dribbling out of him. The things one did for love!

#### Baker Street

“So you had this… thing around your… dick when we were running after the cab?!” John asked, amazed.

Sherlock nodded. “I did, yes.” He had not mentioned the plug. A man had to have some secrets at least… He was not wearing it anymore anyway. Needs must…

“Damn…”

“Two sugars.”

“Huh?”

“You asked me how I’m taking my tea.” It was time to change the subject. And to get the day started. He would have to go to the Yard later to testify about the cabbie case.

“Oh. Yes. Sure. I’ll go make it, shall I?”

“That would be most convenient.” Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind his flatmate. “He won’t say a word, you know that. He saved my life. He will hardly give us away as it would ruin my life.” He felt a bit silly, talking to an empty room. But a second later, his phone signalised a text.

_Whitehall, in an hour. M_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Send a car at least, will you?”

_Fine. M_

Sherlock finally got out of his bed. A shower, toothbrushing and a shave wouldn’t go amiss, he assumed.

#### The Cabinet Office

“Good morning… Holly?”

The brunette snorted. “Your brother is awaiting you, Mr Holmes.”

“Thanks… Louise?”

A deep sigh was Sherlock's only answer. He grinned and entered the second one of his brother's offices – a cold, windowless room looking like a cell made of steel. Kind of fitting, as its only inhabitant was known in the Secret Service quarters as ‘Antarctica’.

Sherlock knew better of course. Mycroft might look and appear like the living example of a tight-arsed pencil pusher with a dangerous streak but he was anything but that. At least if he, Sherlock, was concerned.

“Are you convinced now?” Sherlock asked him while shedding his coat.

“You told him about us!” flared Mycroft. He was sitting in his black leather chair, his desk looking uncharacteristically untidy with plenty of folders spread on it.

“No, I did not. He figured it out.”

“Yes, because you suddenly weren’t able to lie. You're the most manipulative man on the face of the earth and all of a sudden you were unable to tell this man that your paramour is a total stranger he will never meet?”

“My paramour?” Sherlock grinned. “I did know that ‘boyfriend’ wasn’t the correct expression for you but I wouldn’t have thought of that.” He sighed when Mycroft's face remained stony. “Listen, I wasn’t even really awake. Yes, I should have locked my door. I should have put on pyjamas and so on, and so on. Shoot me.”

Mycroft grimaced. “No, thanks. There was enough shooting and danger of untimely death around you yesterday.”

And all at once Sherlock realised that Mycroft was not that jealous anymore – instead he was terrified of the events of the previous night. And that's why he had come to the crime scene. Not to control Sherlock but to reassure himself that he was okay.

Sherlock hastily closed the distance between them and urged his brother and lover – paramour! – to get up so he could embrace him.

“I'm fine, Mycroft. And I'm sorry I was so ghastly to you when you showed up at the college. But at this point I still thought I had to deceive John.”

Mycroft put his arms around his waist and sighed. “No problem, little brother. I'm aware of the necessities. And you're sure he will keep his mouth shut about this juicy piece of news?”

“Of course. He's a doctor. He knows what secrecy means.” In fact he had let John know during breakfast that Mycroft would nail his skinned body at the London Tower if he breathed so much as a word about their secret and highly forbidden relationship. John had choked on his tea and assured him that he would never say a word when he had been able to speak again. And Mycroft must have heard that, too.

Mycroft nodded. “And you're really not interested in him as a man, are you?”

“Of course not. I've never been interested in anyone but you.”

That brought him a flattered smile. “If you say so. You're still going to keep the cage on…”

“Oh!” pouted Sherlock. “That's not fair!”

“Three more days and this is my last word.”

“Three days?!” Sherlock whined. “I want to come for you! Like right now!”

Mycroft gave him an admonishing glare. “Oh, this is out of the question. But I might allow you to make _me_ come.”

“Will that make me get rid of this awful thing earlier?”

“Not a minute.”

“Fine,” Sherlock grumbled. “So how do you want me?”

“On your knees, if you please.”

“Rhyming?” Sherlock asked, horrified.

Mycroft grinned. “No. Rimming. And then you will suck my cock.”

Sherlock tried to not drool. He loved pleasuring his brother orally. But it would be torture because his cock would try to get hard and strain painfully against its metallic confinement. “Tormenter!”

“Shut up and lick my hole, Sherlock,” was the unimpressed and uncharacteristically crude reply.

Sherlock loved it. “Well, you will have to get rid of your trousers and underwear then.”

Mycroft nodded and reached out to lock the door by pressing a button. Things were a bit different here in Whitehall. More technology. More danger of anyone bursting into the room, despite the nameless gatekeeper.

And so Sherlock was allowed to enjoy the revelation of sheer endlessly long legs, a very pert arse and Mycroft's wrinkled little hole.


	2. Chapter 2

#### Still The Cabinet Office

Sherlock was a man who got bored very quickly and was always looking for new experiences – which was probably one of the reasons for Mycroft's jealousy and tendency to mistrust him with new people. But interestingly enough, he had never gotten tired of exploring his brother’s body, especially his intimate parts. Perhaps it was because Mycroft always seemed so prim and untouchable to others and hid his assets under layers of expensive clothing and decorated himself with golden cufflinks and expensive watches on chains. Only Sherlock was ever allowed to see him divested of his armour and vulnerably naked and exposed, and this fact made him proud and giddy whenever they were together like this, no matter where it happened. The more of his usual control Mycroft gave up, even if it only was by doing something banal as undressing, the stronger it touched Sherlock. He loved his brother, had always loved him and would never love anyone else – and it did irk him that Mycroft still considered that Sherlock might leave him for another man.

Since Mycroft wasn’t that open to reasonable arguments sometimes – like in this situation – Sherlock used other ways to convince him. Like licking him inside out to their mutual pleasure. A pleasure that was more than a bit diminished and actually turned into something resembling pain though as his cock was not free to swell and grow as it longed to do at the arousing taste, Mycroft’s very quiet gasps and the feeling of smooth skin against his stroking hands…

But this pain was also sweet and Sherlock found the contrast of the uncomfortableness of his restricted cock and his tingling, needy arse quite exciting. Mycroft had said nothing about fucking him and better it is – Sherlock didn’t really mind having his cock caged for play but he was not exactly a sub that loved being denied coming by a forceful master. They didn't have this kind of relationship. They did like to try different kind of games but Mycroft had caged him for a reason that had nothing to do with their sex. Sherlock didn't dread being fucked – and Mycroft tended to fuck him hard – without being able to get an erection, let alone an orgasm. It was nice to play with that but Sherlock knew very well that Mycroft might not really think (anymore) that he would cheat on him with John (and what a ridiculous suspicion this had be from the start) but wanted him to stay caged to punish him for choosing a flatmate, above all without asking him beforehand.

Of course Sherlock was not his brother's property. He was his own man and allowed to make his own decisions. But this one, like quite a few others before, had affected Mycroft where it hurt – in his precious, vulnerable heart. There was no doubt that his brother feared that Sherlock wanted to break free from him. And just perhaps there was a tiny hint of truth in it. Sherlock didn’t want to ever lose his brother of course but from time to time, there had to be changes in life to spice it up, unrelated to his relationship with Mycroft, and John Watson had seemed to be an interesting new experience and so far, he had proven Sherlock right. Having a friend, just for himself. Someone who didn’t claim to be smarter than him and admired him unconditionally instead of admonishing him to stay clean/behave/be nice to Mummy… And Mycroft had behaved quite condescendingly when he had mocked Sherlock for not being able to afford living where he had just moved in now, and this jibe at his lack of a ‘real job’ had not pleased Sherlock that much. So yes. Probably he had hit back with taking the very first contender for a flatmate unconsciously, and perhaps Mycroft really feared that he could pick John as a new lover in the same way. It was silly of course – their relationship might not be conflict free or perfect as no relationship was as far as Sherlock knew – but it meant the world to him, and there was no doubt that it was the same for Mycroft. They would get over this and come out stronger, as they had always done.

And so Sherlock played along – well, he didn’t have much choice if he didn’t want to wrestle the key out of Mycroft's possession.

So he ignored the protests of his forced-to-stay-flaccid cock and licked and sucked his brother’s salty, sweet hole, producing noises that would have given their mother an aneurysm. Mycroft’s office was sound proof and bug-free so there was no danger that anyone could be witnessing their juicy encounter. Still Mycroft, sitting on the edge of his chair, his legs resting on Sherlock's shoulders, only produced very quiet gasps and groans albeit being expertly eaten out and being highly aroused – his nine-inch cock, fully erect, hot and leaking onto his stomach was proof enough for that.

Sherlock went cross-eyed to be able to look at the mighty organ, both dying to eat that too and envious that it was allowed to grow and thrive while he was digging his tongue as deep into his brother as it was humanly possible.

Eventually Mycroft, who was sweating now and whose black hair was gorgeously curling on his forehead, pushed him back to sit down properly, urging Sherlock to get his swollen lips at his impressive prick. Sherlock had only begun suckling the large, dripping crown and fondling the fuzzy, heavy balls when Mycroft already moaned decidedly louder than before and released his load into Sherlock's eager mouth. Sherlock went on sucking while heftily swallowing until no more spurts were being shot down his throat. Then he licked the twitching penis clean before he got up, assisted by his dishevelled looking brother, who certainly needed to go to his private bathroom rather urgently to make himself respectable again. It was a satisfying comfort that even the distinguished, aloof British Government wasn’t able to look perfectly neat and untouched after experiencing a mind-blowing orgasm.

In fact he looked simply ravishing – his blue eyes sparkling, his usually pale cheeks flushed, his lips, redder than usual, bearing bite marks from his own teeth. He looked positively edible.

“Was that good?” Sherlock asked him with a wink.

Mycroft smoothed back his hair. “Sufficient.”

“And I could have sworn you found it rather exciting,” teased Sherlock while neatening his clothing up.

“Be quiet. A gentleman doesn’t mention such things,” deadpanned Mycroft, and Sherlock laughed out loud.

“Oh, forgive me, oh incestuous lover of mine. So… The keys? Please?”

“And I thought you loathed rhyming,” mocked Mycroft. “Two days,” he conceded then.

“Counting today?”

Mycroft sighed. “Yes. Tomorrow evening I will fuck you and if you have been a good boy until then, I’ll release your needy little cock.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I beg your pardon, _little_ brother?” retorted Mycroft.

Sherlock snorted. “Right. Even a _boa constrictor_ is little compared to you, I’ll give you that.” He knew that his cock was above average as well but not quite as much as Mycroft's.

Mycroft gave him a rather smug smile, but Sherlock could see that he was flattered. What an idiot his big brother was – obviously he was thinking that he was the less attractive of the two of them so he could only be proud of his bigger cock. Probably to himself he was still that chubby boy he had been between twelve and fifteen, no matter what slim and handsome man his mirror showed him. If ten years of loving him had not gotten this out of him, Sherlock assumed nothing would.

If only they could live together – there wouldn’t have been any need for a flatmate to be able to afford the rent. But how were they supposed to explain that to their family? They had not been exactly close or nice to each other until they had fallen for each other in his highly unbrotherly way. Hardly any of their relatives would have ever found out about their living arrangements of course – but their mother would have, and she was pretty damn smart. She would figure out everything and it would kill her. At least Mycroft was convinced about it and Sherlock knew there was no use in a second attempt. They could simply not risk that.

And in all probability it was for the better anyway. Mycroft worked all day and cherished his peace and quiet when he came home. He loved to spend time with Sherlock then of course – quality time… But he would have probably not appreciated Sherlock playing the violin at all hours of the night because he couldn’t sleep or had to process something so complicated that it didn’t work without music. Sherlock was rather sure that Mycroft could have helped him with processing everything. He would have figured out any case-related difficulties at once because Mycroft was indeed the smart one. But what would Sherlock do then? He was bad at being a kept man. His brain needed exercise every bit as much as his body needed to have sex with his lover. He would not be happy about sitting in his brother's house all day with nothing to do but some random experiments until his master came home from work. It was better to live on his own – or now with a flatmate. That John had found out about them so quickly and accepted their relationship was an unexpected gift though. Sherlock would still be able to spend most of his evenings with Mycroft without having to lie about his whereabouts. They didn’t have to maintain the façade of the ever-bickering brothers for him. It would be fine.

Sherlock kissed Mycroft goodbye. He had to go to the Yard and Mycroft had to go on working.

“Don't fall asleep at your desk,” Sherlock said with a wink.

“I shall try my best.” Mycroft was dressed again but still looked flushed and like a man who had just reached the heights of physical satisfaction. “Don’t get into trouble, brother mine.”

“I shall try _my_ best. I will go do my testimony for Lestrade now.”

“Ah, of course. Will you mention that your new friend shot the cabbie?”

“Of course not!”

Mycroft smiled. “You know that Lestrade has probably figured it out anyway.”

“Maybe. But even if he has, he will never be able to prove it.”

Mycroft nodded and looked as if he thought that it was a shame that John would not go to prison for shooting a man that had not exactly been armed. If Sherlock had just refused taking the damn pill, it would not have been necessary.

“Did you do it on purpose?” Mycroft asked, tilting his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Toying with taking the pill. You could have just walked away…”

Sherlock swallowed. Had he? Had he wanted John to save him? Not for any romantic purpose of course. But perhaps he had thought that the killer was better off dead…

Mycroft, who had been watching him very closely, nodded with a sad smile. “I thought so.”

How could Mycroft even know this? But Sherlock wasn’t even remotely surprised about so he didn't ask. It was not important. “That doesn't mean -…”

“I know. You just let your new friend play judge and jury as our friends across the ocean say.”

Sherlock gnawed on his bottom lip and shrugged.

“And your dear doctor is an adrenaline junkie. You gave him back some sort of war. He misses it.”

“Well, I guess his life will be less boring than it was before he met me.”

“Most certainly. And perhaps he might even reconsider his sexu-…”

“Stop it. I don't want him. And I won't reconsider that.” Sherlock stared into Mycroft's eyes now, trying to get his point across.

“Good,” Mycroft said simply, but Sherlock could see that he was still not convinced completely.

Stubborn man! Sherlock refrained from telling him again that he didn’t want John. Instead he said, “I love you,” and gently kissed his beloved brother on the mouth.

Mycroft grabbed his shoulders and kissed him back, and he did look placated when they parted. “I love you, too, Sherlock. Go now. And don't sin.”

“Yes, Father,” was Sherlock's dry reply, and they shared a smile that did some funny things to his heart. His brother was an idiot in a way but he was _his_ idiot, his smart, wonderful, super-sexy idiot.

When he had reluctantly left Mycroft's office, he stopped at the PA’s desk. “Have a good day… Francine?”

“Ha. You tried that one before,” she retorted without looking up from her phone.

“Damn. I must make a list.”

“Don't bother. Have a nice day, too.”

Sherlock grinned at her and turned to leave.

“Oh. How's his mood now?”

Sherlock stopped and closed his eyes briefly. The tone in which she had asked this answered his earlier question if she knew about them or not. She had never before said something that suggestive. “Pretty good, I'd say,” he answered without looking at her and he knew he had hesitated for a second too long.

“Fine,” she said lightly, and Sherlock relaxed.

It didn’t matter. She knew it and she didn’t mind. At least not if he didn’t upset Mycroft. Which was easier said than done… But Sherlock was doing his best. The heavy cage around his cock spoke volumes of that…

#### New Scotland Yard

This wasn’t happening. There weren’t a dozen so far bored coppers staring at him as if he was a sodding criminal!

And yet…

“Sir, are you armed?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If I really was, you think I’d tell you?” He regretted this question when about a dozen guns were suddenly directed at him. “No! I am not armed!” he hurried to add, waving with his hands.

A grim-looking young man with a military haircut was the bravest of the lot. He strode towards Sherlock with a no-nonsense expression. “Raise your arms, sir. I’m going to search your pockets.”

Sherlock loved his brother dearly. But right now he would have gladly shot him to the moon. And himself, too, because he should have foreseen this! But then, he had never been to this building before. And he had also never worn a metal cock cage, or any kind of cock cage, aside from playing in Mycroft's or his own bedroom or a secure hotel room if they had rarely gone on a discreet (and sadly short) vacation together. There were no metal detectors in the Diogenes Club (and why ever not? Were they mad? Anyone could have gone in there with a gun! And shoot his brother!), and in the Cabinet Office, Sherlock didn’t use the official entrance but a secret one, gaining entrance with an ID card Mycroft had made for him. One for people who worked there. It was equally idiotic when he thought about it. Who stormed into an office and shot around? Someone who worked in said office, Cabinet or otherwise! He would have to have a word with Mycroft about the lack of security in his work environments. But this was not the time… and not the place… Because now he was in the headquarters of the Met, and there were metal detectors and he had run straight into one of them with coins in his pocket, his key – and the fucking metal cage around his cock!

None of the coppers seemed to recognise him so he had probably never met any of them at a crime scene. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Probably good because he would have certainly insulted them for being stupid. But his work for the Yard was very low-key and hush-hush. Which was fine with him. He didn’t do it for fame and Lestrade wouldn’t have wanted to explain to his superiors why he couldn’t solve his cases on his own and instead involved someone who had nothing to do with the police… Lestrade… Where was he? He had to save him now!

“Detective Inspector Lestrade is expecting me,” he told the man who patted on the outside of his legs now after taking his wallet and his phone out of his inner jacket pockets and had assured himself that there was no gun in them.

“Uh-hu,” said the blue-eyed officer, unimpressed. He found Sherlock's keys and no weapon in his trouser pockets, and he stepped back, looking a tad disappointed. “Fine. No firearms, eh?”

“I told you,” mumbled Sherlock, and made a step forward. The cop had urged him to go back behind the metal detector before he had started searching him. And of course the bloody thing went off again.

The cop furrowed his brow but then he grinned. “Do you have a piercing, sir?”

“No,” answered Sherlock through gritted teeth. “Believe me when I say that…”

“Hey, freak. What is going on here?”

Oh dear Lord. Of all people it had to have been her…

Sergeant Sally Donovan, followed by nobody other than bloody Philip Anderson, who asked with an ugly grimace, “What's _he_ doing here?”

“I'd say you are lowering the IQ of the whole Yard but…” Sherlock stopped abruptly. Sometimes his mouth was really running away with him… But of course the cop in front of him was too stupid to understand the almost-insult.

“You know him, Sal?” he asked with barely concealed admiration in his voice.

Another married guy who had the hots for this hyena. Straight men seemed to beg for problems, it seemed… But then Sherlock thought of his own situation and huffed about himself.

The attractive sergeant looked up and down on Sherlock’s body with a malicious smile. “Oh yes. He's Lestrade's pretty boy.”

“What? You mean they are…” The cop made a rather rude gesture, and Anderson was laughing his skinny arse off.

“Wouldn’t be surprised. It's the only explanation for him letting him stick his nose into police business.”

Sherlock tried not to explode. “Lestrade, your _boss_ , is expecting me to give my testimony for the case of the serial killer I caught for you, Donovan. He will be very displeased that -…”

“So the detector went off?” interrupted him Sally without looking at him.

Her blond colleague nodded. “Yeah. I've emptied all his pockets and it still goes off. He says he hasn't any piercings.”

“I always thought he was a robot,” laughed Anderson. “Guess there is steel under his skin.”

“And you've got hay for brain,” hissed Sherlock, at the end of his tether.

And then, to his horror, Sally produced a mobile metal detector out of seemingly nowhere and scanned him quickly, and she giggled when it beeped at his crotch. “Bloody hell, freak. You've got a Prince Albert?”

That would probably come next, Sherlock thought. Mycroft, forcing him to wear a customised penis ring that elicited deadly poison if anyone who wasn’t him touched Sherlock's intimate parts… What the hell had happened with his brother? He had always been a bit jealous and very possessive but he had never freaked out like this. Well, probably because there had never been a John Watson in his life before… “I do not,” he answered with a tired sigh. “Just tell Lestrade that I'm here. Give me my phone and I’ll do it myself.” And then he gasped in terror when two deft hands opened his zip and trouser button and pulled down his trousers and pants so fast that he – as embarrassed and out of his depth as he was – couldn’t react in time. And then his tortured cock swung forward in his cage, making everybody gasp before the assembled coppers started laughing and pointing at him while he hastily pulled up his underwear and trousers with his cheeks glowing. He would nail Mycroft to the wall for that. He would never be able to work on a case because of his brother’s godforsaken -…

“What the _hell_ is going on here?”

There was sudden silence after this question, asked in a tone that could have made an ice lolly freeze.

“Um, Detective Inspector… The metal detector…”

“I don't want to hear it, Donovan,” interrupted her Lestrade, whom Sherlock had never been happier to see. “We're going to talk about that later. Come, Sherlock. I apologise for this lot of bullying idiots.”

There was grumbling and muttering but nobody even dared look at Sherlock and his saviour while they were making their way to Lestrade's office. Probably less because of the deeply embarrassed Sherlock but because the policeman looked as if _he_ would start shooting everybody the next moment…

Sherlock's face was still feeling extraordinarily hot and probably looked as if his head was about to explode any minute and the world’s only consulting detective almost disappeared in the visitor's chair in front of Lestrade's desk. The sympathy – and barely concealed curiosity about who the hell was close enough to Sherlock to lock his cock up – in the man's exhausted but gentle face didn’t do anything to improve the situation.

“The killer,” Sherlock mumbled. “Let's talk about the killer.”

“Yes,” said Lestrade, turning to his computer. “Tell me everything about how you deduced that it was this cab driver, and what happened in the college before and when he was shot.”

And despite knowing that he would have to be very selective about the truth at some points to protect John and perhaps conceal his own rather stupid actions when he had been alone with a killer, Sherlock was relieved that he could talk about a (solved!) case instead of this metal menace around his member…


	3. Chapter 3

#### St. Bart’s Hospital/ Throwback to New Scotland Yard/Baker Street

He had to whip someone. Preferably Mycroft, but since his brother would hardly let him and wasn’t available right now anyway, it had to be a corpse again!

Sherlock was stomping through the hallway of St. Bart’s hospital that led to the morgue like a very pissed-off _tyrannosaurus rex_ , his face grim and his eyes glowering at nobody in particular.

He and Lestrade had gone through the case and particularly its conclusion at the college, and he had made sure to let the situation appear more threateningly than it really had been so if it came out who had shot the man – as improbable as it was – it would seem more than an act of self-defence than the actual murder it had been. And damn – Lestrade had not said a word but Sherlock had clearly deduced that he knew who had shot the cabbie and that Sherlock was not completely honest with him. That the DI had hardly seemed to mind was a testament to how much he liked him, which had been surprisingly touching – and, well, surprising – for Sherlock. And of course a serial murderer’s death was hardly a reason to whine about and it had saved the country all the efforts and costs of a court case. Perhaps, Sherlock had thought, Lestrade was even happy that he had found himself a friend who cared about him so much that he even killed for him. Lestrade obviously saw him like a younger brother (without the connotations of Sherlock’s relationship with his real older brother…) or perhaps even a father although he wasn’t old enough to be Sherlock's actual father. Sherlock had never thought about this before but it did feel pretty nice, albeit a tad embarrassing.

And then, when they had been through, Lestrade had looked him deep in the eyes and said, _“I hope this new friend of yours is not in any way… abusive.”_

Sherlock had looked at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded, until he had realised that _of course_ Lestrade had to think that John was forcing him to wear some sort of male chastity belt… Lestrade couldn’t know whether Sherlock had been wearing such things before as he had never come to the Yard before as he had never caught a serial killer by almost becoming his next victim but the policeman had simply put two and two together: a new friend and flatmate and doctor who suddenly accompanied Sherlock to a crime scene – and a caged cock…

Sherlock had flared, gesturing wildly. _“John has nothing to do with this… thing.”_ And the next moment he had thought that he should have let Lestrade go on believing that he was involved with John but how could he as John was straight and what if Lestrade asked him about it and what if…

He had blushed once again and Lestrade had looked at him with concern and again this goddamn curiosity and had opened his mouth to speak and Sherlock had jumped up from his chair. _“I don’t want to talk about it but it was_ not _John.”_

And the next moment he saw realisation dawning on Lestrade as he had gone through the (allegedly) inexistent list of people Sherlock liked and the only slightly longer list of people Sherlock used to deal with on a regular basis as far as he knew, followed by shock, and Sherlock could have hidden in the deepest pit. Mycroft would _kill_ him! Mycroft couldn’t have bugs in Lestrade’s office though, could he, or in the Yard per se so he wouldn’t know but…

“ _It’s not…,”_ he had stammered, _“abusive. He’s just jealous, and John came into my life and he… Oh God, if you tell anyone, I’ll_ die _.”_ Why had Lestrade had to pick _this_ moment to be observant and smart? And Mycroft with his bloody awful jealousy and forcing him to go through this!

Lestrade had been gaping at him for a full minute, his already big eyes huge now. _“So…,”_ he had finally mumbled. _“You… love him?”_

“ _Of course I love him! You think I would be dealing with this abomination around my cock if I didn’t? And before that’s your next question: I was twenty when it started and it was actually_ my _idea even though I tend to regret it now.”_ Then he had shaken his head. _“No, that’s not true; of course I don’t regret it. But_ sometimes _…”_

Lestrade had stared at him again, obviously trying to wrap his mind around this unexpected turn of events. _“Twenty,”_ he had finally said. _“You are…”_

“… _twenty-nine now, yes.”_ What would Mycroft give him for this thirtieth birthday? A cock cage made of gold? An implant that would tell him what Sherlock was doing at all times?

“ _Wow,”_ Lestrade had said.

Sherlock had nodded. _“Yes. So you see we’ve been together for a very long time, guess that should assure you that I was not coerced.. And none of us managed to get pregnant in all this time.”_

Lestrade had looked confused but then he had smiled _. “I do see your point. Don’t worry, Sherlock. Even if I didn’t know that I would end up in an anonymous grave if I so much as breathed a word about it, I wouldn’t do it. It’s not my business…”_

“… _nor your division,”_ Sherlock had thrown in, and Lestrade had chuckled.

“ _Exactly. And these laws are meant to protect minors and people in dependent relationships and of course for the purpose you mentioned. Perhaps you shouldn’t come here again if you…”_

“ _Oh, don’t worry, I don’t plan to! He is going to take this thing off tomorrow or better today,”_ Sherlock had grumbled.

“ _I’ll walk you out,”_ Lestrade had smirked and Sherlock had accepted gratefully.

That the DI had been with him had kept the bunch of stupid police people from openly mocking him and laughing at him but he had seen all the glances and hands clamped over mouths and he had wondered how he was supposed to ever show up on a crime scene again because not one officer would not know about this by the end of the day.

“ _Don’t worry. I’ll have a word with Donovan and everybody will get an email about this inappropriate behaviour, believe me,”_ the grey-haired man had assured him, but one couldn’t kill an idea or a visual, and nobody who had witnessed this directly would ever forget this moment when he had been standing there half naked and with his cock stuffed in some sort of sex toy for control freaks…

He had just nodded sadly and mumbled a quiet _‘thanks’_ and Lestrade had given him a concerned look.

“ _Listen, lad, this will not change anything for me. I know you are special and it shouldn’t have even surprised me that you chose an equally special man for yourself. Really, who else should you’ve taken instead? And considering all the times I was standing in front of hospital beds next to him and how he was looking at you, I should have gotten that long ago. And I’m very sorry for what happened here. These people have no respect and this is intolerable.”_

Sherlock had shrugged. _“Donovan’s always hated me.”_ He hadn’t added, _‘And she thinks I’m a potential killer, too’..._

“ _That’s not true,”_ Lestrade had disagreed. _“She doesn’t understand you and probably even fears your intellect. And people attack what they can’t wrap their mind around.”_

Perhaps she was just _jealous_ because _he_ was smart and _she_ wasn’t. Sherlock hadn’t said that but just nodded at Lestrade’s explanation. In the end it didn’t even matter as she had humiliated him in a way that made his toes curl and would be talked about among the officers until the end of days, no matter what Lestrade did.

And so Sherlock was bursting into the morgue now to have something to do that would take this off his mind for now as not even he would be able to delete this. And perhaps he would have been even more pissed at Mycroft for causing this if he hadn’t been so sure that even his super smart brother had not foreseen these consequences. But it was Mycroft's fault that Lestrade knew about them now and Sherlock would let him know when he had calmed down a bit because otherwise he might get very loud and things could get out of control and despite all that had happened, Sherlock really didn't want that.

So instead he was out for some nice and juicy distraction in the form of an experiment, and in the end Molly Hooper still had to give him data about the corpse he had whipped the other day, didn't she and…

…and then he burst into the main autopsy room just as said Molly Hooper was about to leave it with an apparatus cart which she was shoving and then she was shoving it right against Sherlock's crotch and it made a terrible metallic noise as it hit his steely suspensory through his trousers, and she blushed beet-red and stammered an apology for hitting him involuntarily. And then Sherlock could see the moment in which she realised which noise she had heard and how she came to the right conclusion and blushed even harder and her huge eyes got even huger, and he huffed out an exasperated cry and turned on his heel. And any kind of experiment was forgotten and he jumped into the cab that drove up the pavement and rasped out the words ‘Baker Street’ as he wanted to go home and pull the blanket over his head, before he closed his eyes in terror.

And when he burst into the house, he almost ran into Mrs Hudson, who was holding a big magnet in her hand and said, “Oh, hello Sherlock! Can you believe my key dropped in this little slit at the door and… Oh, what is that?!”

And Sherlock howled in agony and disentangled his crotch from the magnet and stormed back out and hailed another cab that would bring him to Whitehall and he was almost sobbing now and his hands were balled into fists.

#### The Cabinet Office

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

Not trusting his wobbly lips to utter a reasonable word, Sherlock just raised his hand and pointed at his brother’s office door like an accusatory ghost.

He had rushed to the secret entrance and then dropped his ID card as his fingers had been shivering. Cursing and fuming, he had picked it up and held it against a hidden point which nobody who accidentally got hold of a card would find. Vaguely registering the lack of metal detectors and other security once more, he had stormed through the halls, catching surprised looks that turned into understanding at once when people recognised him. He had not given those grey men and women so much as a second glance.

He had crossed the PA’s office without a word of greeting and had not even bothered to guess her name. After one look at him, she had dropped her ever-present phone and hurried to get in his way, and now Mycroft's attractive gatekeeper shook her head resolutely.

“You can’t go in there now. He’s not alone.”

And Sherlock felt all blood leaving his head or so it felt even though it was not scientific and just silly but he gaped at her in horror, shuddering uncontrollably at the prospect of his beloved brother being with someone else. Who was it? A pretty male agent? That old woman he was working with?!

Not-Anthea raised her hands and shook her head in something that could only be described as fond exasperation at male stupidity. “No, you daft man. I meant the PM is with him, and they are most definitely _not_ doing what you are suspecting now. Your brother is probably just trying not to kill the stupid idiot with his bare hands.”

Sherlock surprised himself with a small smile at this disrespectful remark about the head of the official government – everybody who counted knew that in fact _Mycroft_ was the British government, not this pompous prick.

The PA smiled back. “You know he hates all those morons. The only people he doesn’t despise are you and me.”

Sherlock finally felt himself relax a bit and he let her guide him to the chair opposite of her desk and sat down heavily. But then his mood darkened again. His brother was busy with ruling the country. He wasn’t even thinking about him and let him suffer from this horrible cage and all the humiliation he had been going through today. And when he came out, he would give him an upset look and tell him to bloody wait for the next day, and perhaps he would force him to wear this cage forever, and he would have to castrate himself and…

“Breathe, Sherlock. Everything will be fine.”

He looked up at her friendly and indulgent face. Oh, she definitely knew everything about them. Who didn’t by now? All those years they had kept their secret. Well, not from _her_ , obviously but that had probably been silly to believe anyway. She had always been next door for the past years after all… Actually she _was_ the fucking door!

She easily deduced his thoughts and smiled. “I’m not a prude. And you know that secrecy is my middle name, Sherlock.”

“And what’s your first name?” jumped out of his mouth, and she laughed.

“Ophelia.”

“Right.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Nobody is named ‘Ophelia’.”

She winked at him. “If you say so…”

And then the door opened up and Mycroft came out, looking like someone who had just jumped out of a fashion magazine, impeccably dressed and shaved and so elegant and handsome it hurt. And he was smiling but it rather looked like a grimace, and the insincere smile was directed at the man who thought was his boss. When he saw Sherlock, his eyes widened in surprise – and concern. And Sherlock realised how dishevelled he had to be looking after this awful day with all the nasty things happening and feeling like a punching bag and he was close to jumping up and running away to spare himself and Mycroft further embarrassment.

And then Mycroft interrupted the still blathering man next to him by saying, “Excuse me, sir, I need to talk to my brother urgently,” and the PM looked stunned and narrowed his eyes and mumbled something but then he nodded, gave the PA a leering look that made her cringe – which Sherlock noticed but he did not – and stumbled out of the office, certainly to find someone else he could pester.

“We are not to be disturbed, Phelly,” Mycroft said, his look never leaving Sherlock. He looked worried and guilty and Sherlock's heart melted as he could also see the deep love in Mycroft's eyes.

He turned to the woman who had obviously really told him her name after all those years and thanked her with his eyes and she smiled and winked at him. “Of course, sir. Coffee is ready if you want it later.”

“Thank you. Come here, Sherlock.” Mycroft grabbed his arm gently and guided him to his office, immediately closing the door behind them.

And then he was clinging to Mycroft's neck and his brother embraced him and patted his back and kissed his hair and mumbled, “I’m so sorry, little brother. I never meant to cause you any distress. Let me free you of the cage.”

But Sherlock kissed his cheek and shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Perhaps we can meet later in your house and you could fuck me and then take it off?”

“Of course. As you wish.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed him on the lips, and for a moment they shared a gentle, loving kiss. Then he pulled back. “Thanks to the cage, Lestrade figured it out.” He gave his brother a brief summary of what had happened at the Yard.

Mycroft grimaced, looking horrified. “Oh dear. My fault completely. This Donovan figure is a disgrace. I hope Lestrade tells her off thoroughly. Do I need to have him removed?”

“No! He was very pissed off at Donovan, and he won’t say a word. He said he shouldn’t have even been surprised.”

Mycroft eyed him closely and then smiled. “A smart man. Well, smarter than most.”

“Just like John.” Mycroft grimaced again and Sherlock pulled at his ear. “You have no reason to be jealous. Not one.”

“I know, little brother. It’s just that I had you for myself for so long and then this little man shows up and… I will get used to it. But if he ever hurts you…”

“...you’ll be entitled to kill him,” Sherlock assured him. “But he won’t. And he also won’t try to get in my pants.”

“He better not. You’re sure you’ll be okay with wearing the cage until tonight?”

“I will,” nodded Sherlock. “I’ll go home now and play the violin and maybe even eat something.”

“God forbid,” mocked Mycroft. “Fine. But if you change your mind…” He reached into the pocket and presented the key. “I have another one if you lose yours…”

“Oh, I won’t…” Sherlock took the key and put it into his wallet but he was sure he wouldn’t need it. Suddenly everything felt just fine.

After a little while longer, in which they cuddled with each other and kissed thoroughly, he left Mycroft to his duties after sharing some very good coffee with him. On his way out, he stopped at the efficient PA’s desk. “Phelly?”

“Silence.” But she smiled and Sherlock chuckled.

“Thank you,” he said then, seriously.

“Anytime, Sherlock. He loves you like mad, you know?”

He didn't even feel embarrassed but just grateful and proud. “Oh yes. I do know that.” _Like mad_ indeed _…_ “So do I.”

And then he bade her goodbye and hailed a cab that would bring him to Baker Street for a lazy afternoon before he would meet his brother and have some well-deserved fun.

#### Mycroft's House

“Are you okay, love?”

Sherlock nodded against his brother’s neck, smiling. This was bliss. Having shared some fine dinner, seeing the affection (and yes, guilt and worry) in his lover’s eyes, now more or less dancing with him in his bedroom to the very quiet music Mycroft had put on, long, slightly freckled arms wrapped around his waist – it made all the weird situations and embarrassment of the day worth-while.

“Bad brother, me,” Mycroft mumbled against the side of his head.

“Mm-mm,” mumbled Sherlock. “Need to trust me. Will never leave you.”

Mycroft embraced him even tighter. “I would die if you did.”

“Never!” Sherlock pulled back to look at him. “Make love to me now, will you?”

“Of course. You’re sure about keeping the cage on?”

“Yes,” nodded Sherlock. That was totally okay. He had never really minded wearing the cage during sex. It made it a very special experience. Getting excitingly restrained. Being all needy. Begging for release. Sweet discomfort. Making finally being allowed to get hard and come (like a fountain) more rewarding than ever.

“Do you want me to cut this Donovan figure into pieces?” Mycroft asked him, his breath hot against his temple, and Sherlock chuckled.

But then he realised that it had been a serious question. “No! I mean… I wouldn’t miss her. But she’s not worth the trouble. And she’s punished enough by fucking with Anderson…” And of course it was a matter of reason. If Mycroft killed one of his people, Lestrade might reconsider keeping quiet about them, and if the DI did try to betray them, Mycroft would get back at him, and who was supposed to give Sherlock cases then?!

“Fine. But if you change your mind…”

“...I’ll certainly know how to reach you,” grinned Sherlock and cheekily pinched his brother’s pert arse cheek, eliciting a low and rather wanton chuckle from his sexy man. It was actually very nice to have such a fiercely protective lover, and the image of Mycroft taking revenge on the nasty sergeant or perhaps watching one of his minions – possibly even the smart, scary Ophelia – doing it while he was sipping at some fine whiskey was not unpleasant at all. Sherlock was a big boy and could fight his battles himself, but it was very flattering – and yes, arousing – to know that Mycroft would stand up for him and punish everyone who bullied or even hurt him.

They had been together for a long time now – starting after the last period of Sherlock's excessive drug use that had driven his brother mental – but Mycroft had always kept his distance in a way when it came to Sherlock's everyday life, keeping the meddling he had certainly died to do to what counted as a minimum for him. He had always been watching and observing, certainly ready to strike if necessary at all times, and there had never been any doubt about him being the more dominant one of the two of them. But only now that Sherlock's life had changed quite a bit, he had been showing his own insecurities, his jealousy and his vulnerability, and Sherlock realised that he loved his brother more than ever, no matter how upset he had been earlier that day about being distrusted and by his brother's overreaction and the hassle it had caused him. Mycroft was a big softie underneath all the possessiveness and ice – only when it came to him, Sherlock, of course.

“Precious big brother,” Sherlock crooned, and Mycroft looked surprised for a moment before he smiled sheepishly and let his big hands slide up Sherlock's still clothed sides, and a silent understanding passed between them.

“Lovely Lockie.” He kissed Sherlock on the nose. “What do you think – time to get naked?”

“By all means, Mycroft!”

*****

God… Why had he insisted on keeping the cage on again? Because this was _torture_! But of course a torture he was not experiencing for the first time. Mycroft was pounding into him – after a tender, thorough preparation, and that guilty expression had still not disappeared from his face, which Sherlock had found both touching and flattering and still wanted to kiss away – and Sherlock, propped up on all fours, was sweating profoundly, his teeth were gritted and he was close to sobbing. Because the arousal that was building up in his balls wasn’t going anywhere thanks to this sodding cage. His poor cock tried to rise desperately and was nastily bitten away by the bars of torment. He was shivering and cursing and his body was feeling like a helpless sack of bones in Mycroft's firm grip.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop and release you,” informed him Mycroft, not ceasing his forceful thrusts.

“Go on,” Sherlock managed to rasp out. Because he knew the reward would be awesome and only the strong survived and he was tougher than his transport etc. So he let himself be royally fucked, holding onto the sheets for dear life, and he grinned a bit – which probably gave him the expression of a true mad man – when he imagined that Scary Donovan could see him right now, still caged up but being screwed by a real man, his strong, dangerous, sexy lover, so different from her ugly Anderson wimp that could belong to two different species. Perhaps she was indeed jealous of him, and not just because of his intellect.

Mycroft was moaning quietly, his large cock almost splitting him in two, his hands digging into the slippery, sweaty skin of Sherlock's hips to hold him in place.

And Sherlock suffered through this pleasantly unpleasant ordeal, meeting Mycroft's relentless thrusts so his brother would reach his completion and fill him up to the brim – definitely one of Sherlock's fetishes. The heavy metal cage was swinging between his legs and he looked down to glance at it, memories of this in parts awful day swirling through his mind. Now that it was almost over and he would be rid of the restraint soon enough, he could almost laugh at it. Fine, he would forever be the caged-cock-man in the eyes of the cops, but when anybody laughed at him at a crime scene in future, he would simply deduce them to shreds until they cried and then smugly walk away, and of course he would have already presented the solution to the respective case to the baffled Lestrade. They needed him more than he needed the distraction of the cases. And actually he supposed that Lestrade would nip their mocking in the bud anyway if the DI’s exasperation from some hours ago was anything to go by.

But that was future-his problem anyway; the only problem that mattered right now was to finally come, come, and come some more.

About a minute later, Mycroft reached his crisis and cried out behind him, his hands grabbing him even harder – and his fingers would certainly leave some delectable bruises to be admired for a few days – and emptied his (huge) balls into him, and Sherlock loved that feeling of hot come shooting into his arse.

Disregarding the mess of the semen flowing back out, Mycroft manhandled him onto his back and released his cock so quickly that Sherlock idly wondered if he had been hiding the key in his rear end. He didn’t ask but just enjoyed the feeling of all the blood of his body (or so it felt) rushing into his cock, making it jump up, harder and bigger and pinker than ever before. Mycroft bent forward and took the throbbing thing into his mouth and sucked him hard, and it only took mere moments for Sherlock to come. And come. And come some more, and Mycroft greedily swallowed it all.

When Sherlock was utterly spent and his cock about to shrink to its normal size, Mycroft lay down beside him and pulled him into a tight embrace. His hand carded through Sherlock's sweaty curls and Sherlock lazily thought that he desperately needed a shower now and how nice it would be to share it with his brother.

“Are you okay now?” Mycroft asked him, and Sherlock smiled.

“Very much so. Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I made you go through hell and back today, just because I was jealous of this common little man.”

“It was a bit silly,” Sherlock conceded. “Did I tell you about the morgue and Mrs Hudson at all?”

“You did not.” Mycroft sounded alarmed, and he groaned when Sherlock, interrupted by some rather girlish giggling, told him about the collision with the cart and having a large magnet being drawn to his crotch.

In retrospect, it had been nothing more than great fun. Neither Molly nor Mrs Hudson had any idea who had caged up Sherlock's cock, and they would never learn about it. And the people who did know were absolutely reliable. Sherlock had not known John Watson for more than a couple of days, but he already knew he could trust him unconditionally. Mycroft was his love and everything, and John was his new and very good friend when it came to working together and living together as platonic partners. It was all fine.

Mycroft was appalled though. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Sherlock kissed his cheek. “As you should be,” he said, winking. “You can only make up for it by spending a full weekend with me somewhere nice.”

“Oh, we will absolutely do that.” Mycroft kissed him on the lips. “Thanks for being so indulgent with your silly old brother.”

“Too old for a second round, like in the shower for example?” Sherlock asked, cheekily.

“Never,” Mycroft assured him, and the next kiss he gave Sherlock was indeed very, very promising.

🔐 The End 🧲

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got told off for the crack by *someone* :D But I'm not even sorry for writing it! It was great fun for me and I hope you enjoyed this story. Keep in mind please that this universe is canon compliant until "Study in Pink" but will of course have nothing of the hassle of the later episodes. This Mycroft will never allow Moriarty to turn Sherlock's life upside down but will take him out. So there will be no Fall and therefore Mary Morstan will never meet John Watson as he will be busy with cases and not work in the clinic. And so John will remain the good friend he had been in the first two seasons and they will all get their happily ever after.   
> Thanks for reading and especially giving kudos and write comments, they are always greatly appreciated! ❤

**Author's Note:**

> We always call Mycroft's PA Anthea, and there is only that name tag for her. But in fact she told John it's not her real name. So I thought I'd run with that a bit on the side.
> 
> I find this gif truly fitting for this fic: 
> 
> https://24.media.tumblr.com/5a3fcb50fc894e69b182f2826f199471/tumblr_n1fii3gjVB1rck739o3_250.gif


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